


Silky

by edourado



Series: Hell's Kitchen Chronicles [51]
Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Oneshot, kastle - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 08:23:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13267512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edourado/pseuds/edourado
Summary: Karen's dress gets stained with Frank's blood





	Silky

**Author's Note:**

> Posted on Tumblr, December, 2016

Last time he saw her, it was a mess.

He had been hit, his shoulder was bleeding all over the place, she patched him up and he ruined her dress.

Not that she cared. Karen just sat there, tending to his wound, asking him if he was ok, if he was hurt somewhere else, telling him to stay, he couldn’t go out like that.

Only she sat too close. Has been sitting too close, lately, and he did nothing to stop it. He had been touching her a lot more, too, and she didn’t seem to mind. That time they took the subway to and from Brooklyn, they sat close together, his whole right side pressed against her left side, on an empty car at almost one in the morning.

Those looks he gave her, to call her on her bullshit, they lingered a little longer, now. The small smiles she offered him carried a bit more weight, suddenly (well, no, not suddenly, but it still hit him like a brick on the head). When he climbed her window last, he made a mess of everything, got blood all over had hands, her dress, even her cheek. Still, she looked at him. And he smiled at her. He looked back and she smiled back, what a mess.

Replacing the dress was the way he found of… what, apologizing? Thanking her? Both were true, but that particular purchase (and the stealth delivery, placing it on her bed while she was at work) was, in reality, Frank giving in his mind’s favorite subject. All he did was think about Karen, it seemed, so going out and buying the dress was a concrete way of making her part of his day, even if she wasn’t there.

When he decided to wait for her outside her work, a few days after, strategically positioned to minimize being seen, on the other side of the street, all he wanted was to check on her, maybe offer to buy her a coffee, or something. Maybe he wanted another smile, another piercing look, maybe he wanted her to look at him.

She spotted him pretty quickly. While her boss, some other man and a woman talked, she stood there with them, looking at Frank.

She was wearing the dress.

He cocked his head, raising his brows, and didn’t even realize the right corner of his mouth was tilting up until she bit her own smile in, a little shrug and an almost-twirl to show him the dress, and he broke out a full smile, looking down at the sidewalk, pull yourself together.

Looking back at her, blue eyes stared at him, pinning him down on the spot.

He motioned to the left with his head, on their own signal for “coffee?”.

Before she could answer (she wasted a few seconds just sustaining that fire starting eye contact) the people she was supposed to be talking to turned to her, and he heard an invitation for drinks, it was Friday, after all. With another quick look his way, she smiled politely at them (not his smile. Another kind, nice, friendly. His smile was for him) and said she was actually meeting a friend. But maybe next time?

Right before she got in the cab, she raised her eyebrows at him, and then drove off towards her apartment.

He shouldn’t, this is ridiculous, there’s a million reasons against it, he’s not stupid, just walk the other way.

When he finished climbing her window, the smell of fresh coffee and the general scent of her place comforted him like nothing else did, anymore. She stood there on the living room, heels off, eyes heavy on him.

She asked how did he manage to find the exact same dress, he made a joke about skills, she half smiled, staring. He stared back.

She asked about how he knew her size, he let his eyes wander down her body, answered it wasn’t that difficult to figure out, eyes back on hers, holding.

She said he didn’t have to, he said he wanted to, it was the very least he could do, she asked about his shoulder, he brushed it off. Fine, thanks.

Their eyes held and Frank’s heartbeat picked up a little.

He asked if she liked it, taking a step towards her (was he taking a step or was she drawing him in?), she smiled again, blue on black, reminding him she had bought it first. But she thanked him while he took another step, and another.

When his hand raised to touch his fingertips against her neck, she said she might like this one better, though, and closed her eyes, letting out a breath that sounded like permission, combined with the timid fingers that touched his forearm while he touched the fabric of the dress on her shoulder, taking that final step that touched his chest to hers.

“Too close” seemed to be their preferred status, now.

His nose touched her cheek, first, his other hand raising to touch the other side of her face. He felt her fingers making a fist on his side, the fabric of his shirt caught in it.

When his palm slid from her back to her waist, the cool, smooth feel of the fabric made him dip his face further in. Or maybe it was her, throwing her head back like that, letting out a sigh that sounded too good, too anxious.

She smelled of something fresh and his mouth touched her jaw. She breathed his name out and turned her face to his. He was paralyzed for a second when their lips touched, and then something inside him, inside her, the smell of coffee, the dress under his fingers, her tongue against his, oh, Lord forgive him-


End file.
